


Silk

by Kate_Lear



Series: Winter's Delights [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-26
Updated: 2011-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 02:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Lear/pseuds/Kate_Lear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evander <strike>carries out his threat</strike> fulfils his offer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silk

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [picfor1000](http://community.livejournal.com/picfor1000/) challenge, which required exactly 1000 words based on a picture. I was given [this one](http://bighugelabs.com/onblack.php?id=5127858281), and immediately thought of Evander’s request to John in [_Winter’s Delights_](http://kate-lear.livejournal.com/9577.html). So I guess this is sort of a little spin-off from that, although hopefully this still makes sense even if you’ve not read it. Huge thanks to [innie_darling](http://innie-darling.livejournal.com/) for beta-reading and patient help with the word count!
> 
>  **ETA:** this has now been translated into French by dieuvousparle, available [here](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8179592/1/Silk).

‘No.’

‘John.’

‘ _No._ ’

‘You’re being unreasonable.’

‘I’m _really_ not.’

‘I owe him a favour.’

John snapped. ‘I am _not_ a “favour”! And honestly, I can’t see how _him_ taking _me_ shopping for a suit is a favour for him and not vice-versa.’

Sherlock grinned. ‘You have _met_ Evander, haven’t you?’

John had, and the memory of Sherlock's cousin’s appreciation of him made him flush. He bit his lip hard against an answering grin. ‘Stop it. Don’t make me laugh when I’m annoyed. Look, you’ll just have to call and tell him–’

‘Tell me what?’ Evander strolled into their flat, looking immaculately tailored and clearly having charmed his way past Mrs Hudson. ‘Morning, boys. Am I interrupting a little domestic? For what it’s worth, my money’s on you, John.’

‘ _Actually_ ,’ Sherlock bit out, glaring peevishly, ‘John’s having second thoughts.’

‘Oh.’ Evander’s face fell, but he recovered at once and said magnanimously, ‘Well, of course if you’d rather not then I wouldn’t want to twist your arm.’

Honestly, John thought as he looked at Evander’s almost theatrically crestfallen face, with their aptitude for persuasion and coercion the Holmeses could be collectively ruling the world, if it wasn’t for the fact that they had as much talent for family cooperation as a sackful of wet cats.

‘Oh, fine,’ he sighed. ‘I’ll get my coat.’

\----------

Despite his apprehension, John found himself being drawn easily into conversation with Evander. However, when he saw where the car had stopped, he started to stammer.

‘Look, I really appreciate you doing this, but I can’t afford–’

‘John, trust me, Savile Row is the _only_ place for a suit.’

‘But–’

‘Besides, it’s on Sherlock.’

It must be – Evander was holding up a familiar credit card and John knew that Sherlock was far too observant for anyone to pickpocket him, even his own devious cousin.

Once inside one of the less ostentatious shops, Evander greeted the owner with two kisses and what sounded like fluent Italian. When he caught John’s look, Evander just shrugged modestly.

‘I’m not that good,’ he demurred, ‘but I have a tutor, and I find it comes in useful on trips to Milan. Now come on,’ he herded John towards the private fitting room, ‘pronto.’

\----------

John had known since university that he was bisexual, and he’d had his share of flings and relationships with blokes. Even so, it was still strange to have a man he’d only just met all but feeling him up and rhapsodising over his inner thighs and bum, even if the man did have a tape measure and was being purely professional about the entire process.

 _Thanks_ , he wanted to say, trying not to feel like a piece of meat. _It’s all the chasing after violent criminals. Keeps me fit._

The pair of them had stripped him down to his T-shirt and jeans. He’d been afraid… no, not _afraid_ , because he’d damn well served in Afghanistan and he certainly wasn’t going to be cowed by this. Very well, call it concerned. He’d been _concerned_ that he was going to be left in his underwear, but the disrobing had stopped at a decent point; measurements didn’t need to be quite _that_ precise, it seemed.

He stood there, feeling far too scruffy to be in a place like this, the rapid Italian flowing over his head doing nothing to help.

When Signor Contiello stood back and nodded, John heaved a sigh of relief. He reached for his jumper, but Evander’s voice stopped him.

‘Not quite, I’m afraid. I’ll need to you to try on these; we need to find which shade and pattern suits you best.’

As John took the ridiculously large pile of shirts and trousers that Evander passed him, he thought darkly that the man was looking entirely too pleased with himself.

The afternoon passed in an exhausting blur of putting on and taking off an endless stream of suits, shirts, and waistcoats (a _waistcoat_ , for God’s sake. He’d felt like his granddad when he’d put it on) that looked almost identical to each other. At least as far as he could see; Evander and Signor Contiello, however, had had long and thoughtful discussions about each option.

When he finally returned to the flat, hours later, John swore that he would never again think that supermodels had it easy.

\----------

Sherlock was sprawled on the sofa in his ‘Genius at Work’ pose, his legs across John’s lap while John balanced his laptop on his shins, when Mrs Hudson brought the parcels up to their flat.

Saving his blog entry, John put his computer aside to take everything up to his room. He tried it all on – even the loose cravat that Evander had insisted upon despite John's protests that it made him feel ridiculous.

Lacking a full-length mirror, he went back downstairs. Sherlock had wandered into the kitchen to check on an experiment, and was so intent upon it that John had to go in and lean on the table opposite him before he would answer.

‘ _Sherlock_ ,’ John repeated, exasperated. ‘I _said_ , do we have a long mirror in the flat?’

Finally, Sherlock looked up. His eyes widened and he dropped the slide he was holding; the sharp crack made John wince but seemed to go unnoticed by Sherlock, who was staring with unabashed greed. Watching Sherlock’s throat working speechlessly, John inwardly crowed with glee and gave Sherlock his most flirtatious look. Perhaps that mirror wasn’t necessary after all.

\----------

Much later they lay on damp, crumpled sheets, with Sherlock warm and heavy on John’s chest. Gently, trying not to disturb him, John reached for his phone.

 _Thought you’d like to know that everything arrived today_ , he typed. _Fits perfectly. Thanks very much. J_ He paused, and then added, _PS – S likes it too._

Two minutes later his phone buzzed, and he read: _You’re more than welcome, John. EH PS – I’m sure he does. Don’t forget that Italian silk will crumple if left on the bedroom floor for too long ;)_

\--End--


End file.
